


I Need You the Way Flowers Need the Rain

by C4t1l1n4



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, Boys Kissing, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester in Denial, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, until he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Castiel spends an afternoon in a field near the bunker making flower crowns, and when Dean joins him, they might both learn more than how to string dandelions together.99% Fluff
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711075
Comments: 5
Kudos: 133





	I Need You the Way Flowers Need the Rain

It’s a hot summer day, and everyone is inside, enjoying the cool underground temperatures of the bunker. 

Cas, however, is nowhere to be found. 

And it’s not like Dean is explicitly looking for the angel or anything. He was just wandering around all the areas of the bunker in attempts to accidentally bump into him and maybe suggest they sit together and watch a movie or something. But he’s not looking for him. Not at all.

That would imply that he’d rather do something with the angel than stay in the comfort of his room with the freedom to do whatever he wants. 

That would imply that he’d be willing to sacrifice watching what he had in mind for a nature documentary.

No, not even a little bit.

Because that would imply that there’s some sort of rising panic bubbling up under his skin as he walks through another room and has yet to lay eyes on Cas. 

Okay, so _maybe_ he comes in the library with a bit more speed than a casual stroll, startling Sam out of his immersion in the book he’s flipping through, but it doesn’t mean anything. 

It doesn’t mean anything that his brother quickly picks up on the intensity of his gaze as it flickers around the room or the tenseness of his shoulders. It doesn’t mean anything that Sam is on his feet in seconds, eyes darting around to find a threat, hand lingering near the gun strapped under the table.

“Where’s Cas?” It doesn’t come out as casual as Dean would’ve liked, but it still doesn’t mean anything. 

Sam huffs out a sigh - a sigh of what Dean thinks might be relief - and falls back into his seat. “He’s outside.” Sam chuckles, reaching for his book again. 

And the look that Sam gives him as he immediately heads towards the bunker door, well, that _definitely_ doesn’t mean anything. 

\-----  
He finds Cas sitting cross-legged in the middle of the field across the two-lane street from the bunker, fiddling with something in his lap. He picks up on Dean’s approach, even before the hunter has time to make himself known, but Cas just rests back on his hands, watching Dean as he jogs across the hot pavement, barefoot. 

The hunter slows his steps when he makes it to the other side, resuming his casual stroll from earlier, hands in his pockets. Cas smiles up at him when he gets close.

“Can I join you?” Dean calls from a few feet away, slowing to a stop, standing next to the angel and blocking the sun. 

“Of course you may,” Cas replies, shifting slightly in his spot as if to make room for Dean in a field that’s full of only flowers and grass. 

Dean settles himself in beside the angel, finally catching a glimpse of what he was working on earlier. “Flower crowns, huh?” He cuts himself off before he can make a snide remark about it being ‘girly’.

“Dandelions are a pest, Dean. Weeds are a poor excuse for a flower.” Cas corrects gently, though he doesn’t seem upset. “But they do look nice.” He concedes, nimble fingers returning to mindlessly loop stems together. 

Dean observes that any of those pesky little weeds in the vicinity of the angel had been picked and woven neatly into the crown Cas held in his hands. Dean lets himself relax, the adrenaline seeping out of his body, and falling back onto his hands like Cas had done earlier. He closes his eyes and tilts his face towards the sun, basking in its light. He’s startled out of his reprieve by a weight across his lap. 

His eyes fly open and he freezes, face to face with the angel, who is currently straddling him, ocean eyes trapping him in place. When Dean makes no move to run or scream, he resumes, attention diverted to place the yellow crown atop his head. It fits like it was designed for him, making Dean think that it might’ve been, and Cas sits back, admiring his work. 

“It fits,” Cas says confidently, and Dean isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the fact that it fits his head, or just fits with him in general. He isn’t sure which one he’d prefer either. The longer Cas remains sitting there, staring at him like he’s worth something, the redder Dean’s face becomes until he turns his head to the side altogether. Cas stands abruptly, and Dean turns back to watch him go, worried he did something wrong, but the angel’s deep voice rings out over his shoulder. “I’m going to get more flowers.” 

Dean takes this time to calm his racing heart, tame the blush on his cheeks and firmly remind his brain that it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Cas just doesn’t know personal space. That’s all. Soon, the angel is back, flowers falling into his lap as he sits cross-legged once more. He hums something that Dean doesn’t recognize, but is comforting nonetheless, and Dean lays down fully on his back, balancing the flower crown on his chest so it doesn’t get squished. 

“You know,” Dean says a little bit later. “I was confused at first why you were out here, but I think I get it now.” He admits, eyes half-lidded, looking over at Cas, watching him work. 

“It is very nice,” Cas replies without pausing. “There is a level of peacefulness here that I cannot find in the bunker.” 

Dean shoots up at those words, tensing. “Did you want to be alone? I didn’t mean to bother you or anything.” Dean says, frozen in a sitting position, his mind screaming at him for being so stupid. Of course the angel came out here to get some peace and quiet but would be too nice to turn Dean away when he came to find him. 

Dean’s words cause Cas to stop, looking up from the second flower crown for the first time since starting it. He tilts his head the slightest bit to the side and fixes Dean with a squinty-eyed stare. “Your presence doesn’t bother me. I would not have allowed you to stay if it did. You think too little of yourself, Dean.” He says, returning his focus back to the plants in his lap. 

Dean fiddles with the flower crown in his hands, worrying the stems between his fingers. He can’t quite seem to relax the way he had before, unable to shake the feeling that Cas feels tense, a distinct sense of unhappiness radiating from him. Dean ducks his head, pulling his stretched out legs close to him, sitting cross-legged as well, and hunching over a bit, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the yellow petals of the flowers. He debates leaving anyway, risking a glance over at the bunker across the street, where he could return to leave the angel in peace. 

He starts to set the yellow crown to the side when someone grabs his wrist. He looks up to see Cas towering above him, blocking out the sun, a growl emanating from the back of his throat. 

“Do not insinuate that you are less than you actually are.” His voice is full of barely restrained anger, eyes dark, lips pulled halfway into a snarl. Dean is quickly reminded why angels are something to be fear. The crown is ripped from his fingers, gently, but with intent, and Dean lets it go. He doesn’t dare to move, barely dares to think as Cas leans forward, resettling the flower crown in his hair. 

“It is very frustrating,” Cas continues, settling onto his haunches in front of the hunter, “to see someone you care about hate themselves so deeply.” He sighs, the anger seeping from his tone and turning into something of defeat. “Dean.” He reaches a hand up to cup the hunter’s face, “you must understand that I care about you. Deeply. And while I know your distaste for yourself is hardly something I can fix, It pains me that you cannot see yourself the way that I do. That you do not see yourself in the light that you deserve.” 

Tears well up in Dean’s eyes, no matter how hard he tries to blink them away. Hearing nice things about himself is not easy, but the sincerity and pain and Cas’s voice strikes him and pulls his heartstrings clear out of his chest. Cas’s hand falls to Dean’s shoulder, resting against the handprint hidden under a layer of clothing, and he lets his head rest on top of the hunter’s. 

“I love you,” Cas says simply, the confession whispered against soft, tawny strands of hair. He doesn’t get a response, so he takes it for what he thinks it means and pulls away, pressing a kiss to the hunter’s forehead before leaning back on his haunches once more. “I understand if you do not return the sentiment and will not hold it agai-“ 

He’s cut off as Dean launches himself at him, hovering over the angel as he pins him to the ground. “Are you kidding me?” Dean asks, voice watery from the tears that leak from his eyes. He leans down and kisses Cas right on the lips, short but sweet. “I’ve loved you for such a long time.” He admits when he pulls away, laughing despite the tears staining his cheeks. 

Cas smiles up at Dean, bright and unrestrained. He wraps his arms around the hunter’s neck as he sits up and gets pulled up along with him. He gets manhandled until he’s sitting in-between Dean’s leg, back pressed up against his chest. The flower crown now sits crooked on Dean's head, knocked to the side in the midst of all the excitement, but somehow stayed, yellow flowers intertwining with messy locks of hair. Cas stretches, pulling the second flower crown into his lap before settling full against the hunter’s chest, twisting to press a quick kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

He then returns to work, Dean watching in acute fascination as the remaining flowers are woven together. He places it on his head softly after, and twists around to face Dean, so they can use their time basking in the sun to make out some more. 

Dean chuckles between one round of kissing, eyes flickering up to the crown nestled atop the angel’s head. “You’ve made friends.” He says with a smile, and Cas hears them. Bees have found their way to the dandelions in the crown, dutifully buzzing between the flowers, occasionally landing in messy strands of raven hair. 

Dean kisses the angel again as they walk hand in hand across the road without shoes, bees still flying around the flowers in Cas’s yellow crown because this…

This definitely means something.


End file.
